


say the word and i'll go anywhere blindly

by elsaclack



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: F/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, set in season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:29:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23136964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsaclack/pseuds/elsaclack
Summary: He nods, gaze fixated on his knees, trying and failing to pretend like he can’t hear Leslie hiding her sniffle with a cough, briefly wondering why he ever thought the days after his impeachment would be the worst he would ever feel.  “Leslie…” he trails, slowly running the palms of his hands over his thighs.  There are words, theremustbe words, and if he finds the exact right words and says them in the exact right order, he can make everything okay again.  She sniffles again - louder than before - and all the air in his lungs escapes in a long, slow breath.  “You’re amazing.  Did you know that?”He sees her rear back a little, confusion written across her features.  “Huh?”“You’re amazing.”  he repeats with a little more conviction than before.  “You’re an amazing human being.  I’ve never met anyone as smart, as kind, as passionate as you.  You are the best candidate that will run for that position,” he says seriously.  “If they can’t see that - it’s their loss.  You areamazing.”
Relationships: Leslie Knope/Ben Wyatt
Comments: 1
Kudos: 66





	say the word and i'll go anywhere blindly

**Author's Note:**

> 20\. “It’s three in the morning…”  
> 38\. “That wasn’t what I asked.”  
> 63\. “You’re amazing, did you know that?”  
> 78\. “Well, it didn’t seem important at the time.”

Ben, for the record, doesn’t put much stock in the idea of a mystical cosmos. He’s a hard facts kind of guy - a proof-is-in-the-pudding kind of guy - and despite the fact that Donna has spent many ( _many_ ) hours forcing him to listen to her read through his various horoscope predictions, Ben remains firmly rooted in reality.

But if he _did_ believe - if there _was_ a mystical invisible force influencing the world around him - he’d guess the early morning hours of a random Wednesday in March would be his cosmic penance for every stupid decision he’s ever made in his life (namely, _Ice Town_ ).

He’s not sure, initially, what rouses him from sleep - one moment he’s adrift in inky black unconsciousness, the next he’s blinking up at the erratic shadows cast across his bedroom ceiling by the ceiling fan whirring on its highest setting. And despite the fact that he’s suitably disoriented, he immediately knows two things:

First, it’s extremely early in the morning.

Second, he’s alone in his bed.

The second is the more pressing fact at present, given that he was definitely _not_ alone when he fell asleep some time earlier. He lets out a quiet groan as his fingers stretch across empty space to his left, searching for the soft body he already knows is not there. He turns his head to blink blearily at the empty pillow, and just as his eyes focus on the rumpled sheets, he hears a noise out in the kitchen.

Adrenaline floods his veins and all at once, he’s awake, kicking his comforter and sheets down to the foot of the bed and stumbling to his feet. It’s not an altogether uncommon phenomenon to hear a loud noise in the middle of the night as of late considering he lives with _Andy and April_ , resident king and queen of _weird_ , but he worries all the same - there is such a thing as crime, and raccoons, and crime raccoons, probably.

The master bedroom door is cracked open when he makes it out into the hall, April’s pale face illuminated in the scant light. She glares at him when he emerges, dark eyes darting between his face and the kitchen at the end of the hall. “Is that a burglar?” she hisses.

“I dunno,” Ben whispers over his shoulder, stalking down the hallway on the balls of his feet. He hears another noise - a pan hitting a hard surface - and then a quiet curse in a familiar voice. The tension leaves his shoulders automatically, before he’s even fully processed what he’s heard.

Leslie’s in the kitchen, only her torso visible through the space between the counter and the upper cabinets, and Ben isn’t sure if he wants to throw something (something soft, of course) at her for scaring him or just curl up right there on the floor until she’s finished. He pauses at the end of the hallway, watching her move around the kitchen, wondering if she’s ignoring him or if she’s completely oblivious to his presence. Behind him, he feels April craning around his shoulder to get a look - she scoffs a half-second later, loud enough that Leslie starts, crouching down to stare at them with owlish eyes wide with surprise.

“Are you serious?” April deadpans, voice just barely hoarse with sleep. “What the hell are you doing?”

Leslie blinks glancing down at the carton of eggs in her left hand. “Making breakfast?” she mumbles.

“Leslie, it’s…” he squints at the clock mounted to the wall beside the doorway and immediately digs his fingertips into his temple. “It’s three in the morning, is - is now really the best time to make breakfast?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she shrugs, and April releases a quiet, menacing growl behind him. “Might as well do something useful with my time, right? Can’t just lay around doing nothing all day -”

“You’re right,” he gently interrupts, waving a hand behind his back at April. “But it’s the middle of the night, aren’t you tired?”

“Breakfast isn’t gonna make itself, Ben, and JJ’s doesn’t open until seven, so that’s four hours to kill and I’m gonna kill them making pre-waffle eggs and bacon.”

She sets about working again, resolutely ignoring them both, and with a long sigh, Ben half-turns back toward April. “I’ll take care of this,” he murmurs quietly.

“You’d better,” April mutters. “I keep a machete in the hall closet, I _will_ kill you both if she wakes Andy up.”

She retreats back down the hall before he can think of a response, only turning back to shoot her middle finger at him just before her bedroom door closes once more; with one last steadying sigh, he turns back toward the kitchen and slowly makes his way toward Leslie.

Her energy is borderline manic - once again, not unfamiliar, but certainly unsettling. She ignores him as he pushes himself up to perch on an empty stretch of counter space, ignores him clearing his throat, even ignores him gently bumping his heels against the cabinet doors below him in a repetitive hollow _thunk_.

“Leslie,” he tries, and she shakes her head - quick, almost imperceptive, like the beat of a hummingbird’s wings mid-flight. “Leslie, honey, what’s going on?”

“I told you, I’m making breakfast. Should I make French toast?”

“Leslie,” he says again, firmer than before, and she pauses. “That wasn’t what I asked. What’s going on?”

In the moonlight spilling through the kitchen windows, he can clearly see how stiff and tense her back and shoulders are. She turns her head a degree - not toward him, perse, but at an upward angle - and she lets out a slow, quiet sigh. “My - my campaign managers pulled out earlier,” she says softly.

His heart drops - he thought she’d seemed off before bed, but he’d chalked it up to the crappy narration on that World War II documentary they’d watched together after she came over and the whole not being allowed to go to work thing. She turns to face him, hands planted on the edge of the counter, and he’s fairly certain the flat grimace on her face is meant to be something like a brave smile. He shakes his head, and she drops her gaze to the kitchen floor. “I’m _so sorry_ ,” he says softly.

She purses her lips and shrugs. “Probably shouldn’t be surprised,” she says after a moment, and now her voice has that razor-thin quality it always takes on before she starts crying. “They want a safe bet, and - I’m not that anymore. I’d never take it back,” she adds, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel at least a _little_ relieved. “I just - I don’t know. I didn’t think it would be this _hard_.”

He nods, gaze fixated on his knees, trying and failing to pretend like he can’t hear Leslie hiding her sniffle with a cough, briefly wondering why he ever thought the days after his impeachment would be the worst he would ever feel. “Leslie…” he trails, slowly running the palms of his hands over his thighs. There are words, there _must_ be words, and if he finds the exact right words and says them in the exact right order, he can make everything okay again. She sniffles again - louder than before - and all the air in his lungs escapes in a long, slow breath. “You’re amazing. Did you know that?”

He sees her rear back a little, confusion written across her features. “Huh?”

“You’re amazing.” he repeats with a little more conviction than before. “You’re an amazing human being. I’ve never met anyone as smart, as kind, as passionate as you. You are the best candidate that will run for that position,” he says seriously. “If they can’t see that - it’s their loss. You are _amazing_.”

She pushes off the counter and quickly stalks toward him, fitting herself in the space between his knees with ease. He curves his spine to meet her, lifting both hands to cup her face, letting his fingers sift through the soft hairs at the base of her skull. Her kiss is slower than her usual speed, but it’s no less ardent; despite the heaviness still clinging to the air around them, he feels her lips curving up into a smile against him and her hands sliding up his legs and around his sides to touch the small portion of his butt that isn’t against the countertop.

He pecks the end of her nose when she pulls away, and then her forehead, smiling at the quiet giggle she muffles with her hand. She falls into his embrace easily, her head slotted into the curve of his neck, and he thinks - not for the first time - that he could probably stay exactly like this forever and be the happiest man who ever lived. He reaches up to touch the back of her head, slowly, gently combing his fingers through her hair, and she releases a contented sigh. “I’m sorry that I’ve been complete poison to your campaign,” he murmurs.

She stiffens a little, but doesn’t pull away. “You’re not poison,” she mutters, fingers flexing against him.

“I am to your campaign.”

She’s quiet a moment, considering it. “Okay, maybe. Maybe to my campaign. But _only_ to my campaign. You’re amazing, too, Wyatt.”

He plants his lips against the side of her head, hiding his smile in her hair, and she gently pats his lower back. “This is gonna work out,” he says after a beat of comfortable silence.

She breathes against him for a minute, no other sound passing between them. “How do you know?”

Her voice is quiet, uncertain, and it ignites something deep and primal in the pit of his belly. “Because I know _you_ ,” he says with a shrug, and she laughs when the movement jostles her head. “You’re too tenacious to take things lying down. You fight, and because you fight, things work out in the end. This is no different.”

She pulls back, a genuine smile lighting the delicate features of her face, and he’s struck with bone-deep adoration. “I love you,” she says - quietly, marveling, like she’s the one who can’t quite believe they have this back.

“I love you more,” he says back, grinning at the quiet laughter it elicits from her. She pushes up to the balls of her feet, still laughing when she kisses him, and he swears he can feel the vibrations all the way down in his toes. She falls back to her heels, hands finally sliding away from his butt to halfway down his thighs; she leans against him a moment, studying the small disaster frozen in time around the sink. “You know most of that stuff expired last month, right?” he asks quietly.

“Really? I didn’t even think to check the expiration dates -”

“This is Andy and April’s house, you should _always_ check expiration dates.”

She laughs again, and it tapers off into a sigh. “Well, it didn’t seem important at the time,” she admits with a shrug.

He snorts and slides off the counter, stepping up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist and plant his chin against her shoulder. “Come back to bed,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against the exposed skin of her neck. She shivers and tilts her head to the side, granting him better access. “You don’t have to sleep…”

“Oh…do you want to -”

“We can, but mostly April threatened us both with the machete she apparently keeps in the hall closet if we wake Andy up while we’re out here.”

Leslie straightens up, head turned just enough that she meets his gaze. “We should go.” she says very seriously.

“You think she has an actual machete in the house?”

“Oh, without a doubt. We should go. _Quietly_.”


End file.
